


Lovebugs | L.S

by missyoutoosweetcheeks



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Artificial Insemination, Babies, Blow Jobs, Bottom Louis, Businessman Harry, But Definitely, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Hand Jobs, Harry Styles is a Melodramatic Fool, Humor, Inappropriate Humor, Kid Fic, Lies, Louis Tomlinson is a Little Shit, M/M, Mentions of Death, Mpreg, Mpreg Louis, Now for the smut tags, Oh my god idk what to tag i suck, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pregnant Louis Tomlinson, Rich Harry, Rich Niall Horan, Secret Identity, Secrets, Single Parent Harry Styles, Slow Burn, Some Humor, Surrogacy, Surrogate Louis Tomlinson, Tears, Time Skips, Top Harry, Trauma, Ugh, University Student Louis Tomlinson, University Student Zayn Malik, Work In Progress, Zayn Malik & Louis Tomlinson Friendship, and all the good stuff that should make a good plot, idk what to say just yet lol, that's actually not a tag but yolo, that's the cutest fucking thing tbh, yes yes we all goin to hell
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-15
Updated: 2020-05-15
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:28:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24197497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missyoutoosweetcheeks/pseuds/missyoutoosweetcheeks
Summary: ▪O N G O I N G▪"Blue eyes. That's all I want.""But sir, you have paid under different terms--""I know. I was supposed to come with my ex-fiancé.""Oh, um--""I've already deposited quite the non-refundable sum for my surrogate. If they're willing, I'd be more than happy to pay a little more extra."OR《In which Louis has a secret.And Harry's cradling them against his chest without a clue.》!MPREG!A Larry AU.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Comments: 10
Kudos: 30





	1. Warnings

**_Warnings_ **

* * *

**Hiiii.**

**I know. Someone really needs to tell me to fuck off and finish my other works.**

**I kNoW.**

****

**But. I couldn't resist. I'm way too addicted to books like these and** **just.**

 **I just** **_have_ ** **to.**

**But like.**

**With the roles reversed.**

**Hfndndn I'm excited.**

**After a** _**long** _ **ass time oml.**

**AnYwAyS. WELCOME TO EVERYBODYYYY!! THE OLD AND THE NEW, HELLO!!**

**ok ok i'll shut up now lol.**

**This book contains:**

**● boy x boy content. Duh. Y'know incase you didn't know that Louis and Harry are boys and have a dìck.**

**● mature boy x boy content. Duh.**

**● curse words. It's a part of me, oops.**

**● people who don't belong to me. People i have no responsibility over. Um i certainly don't own 1D, although we should try to buy them again.**

**● mpreg. It's kind of the whole plot lol.**

● **bottom Loueh bc thAt's jUsT wHo i aM. :)**

**● tooth rotting fluff? HeLLo dad Harold with babies uwu.**

**● triggering content like depression or ptsd. Possibly. I haven't really mapped out the whole storyline yet, but I'll let you know before each chapter. But it's very very probable if I want to have a good plot line oop.**

**● me. So just. Be gentle, okay?**

**If anyone has a problem with any of these, then eheh please. The exit button is right there. If you wanna stay and gimme (or any other person) shite then imma squish yo cheeks, slap yo booty with a report button and kiss you goodbye :)**

****

**That is,** _**i** _ _**f** _ **I have the balls for it,** _**after** _ **I've politely asked you to fuck off of course. Treat people with fucking kindness and** **all** **:)))**

****

**XDDD**

**I hope you like it :)**

**Happy reading!**

**©(2020) S U H A.**


	2. 00 - D E B U T

**_00 - D E B U T_ **

* * *

**"Blue eyes. That's all I want."**

**"But sir, you have paid under different terms--"**

**"I know. I was supposed to come with my ex-fiancé."**

**"Oh, um--"**

**"I've already deposited quite the non-refundable sum** **for** **my surrogate. If they're willing, I'd be more than happy to pay a little more extra."**


	3. Visuals

_**Visuals** _

* * *

_**Harry Styles** _

_**** _

_**[Soff beard with babies: yes]** _

_**Louis Tomlinson** _

_**** _

_**[I GET AGGRESSIVE FOR PEAKY BLINDERS LOUIS OKAY]** _

_**Niall Horan** _

_**** _

_**[Niall with glasses: chef's kiss. I know there are better pictures XD BUT HE LOOKS LIKE A DRUNK COACH WHO DID A GOOD JOB OKAY** _ _**XDD** _ _**]** _

_**Liam Payne** _

_**** _

_**[I dig this. Why do I dig this? Idk but it's a yes from me]** _

_**Zayn Malik** _

_**** _

_**[I have no words for the level of beauty this man possesses]** _


	4. 01

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WELCOME TO THE FIRST INSTALLMENT HEHEH.
> 
> Excuse any grammatical errors/ misspelled horrors (you're well and truly welcome to point them out for me to battle it fair) (don't be mean) because Eng is not my first language, even if I act as though it is l o l.
> 
> The fun in exposing yourself, amiright.
> 
> ¡A FACT I FORGOT TO MENTION: MPREG IS N O T COMMON IN THIS UNIVERSE¡
> 
> Anyways. Enjoy!
> 
> ▪U N E D I T E D▪

_**01** _

* * *

**LOUIS**

_**November,** _ _**2016** _

It's way too fucking bright.

That was all that Louis could think about as he looked around the vaguely familiar (not familiar in the way that he'd been in the room itself before, but in the way that he'd been in _such_ rooms way too many times to be counted as normal) surroundings.

It was as simple as a hospital check-up room could be. White-washed ceilings embedded with brighter lights, pale blue walls to which clung a heavy, unrelenting smell of disinfectant, and what could only be defined as _clinically sanitised._

Smaller details, however, could pinpoint the exact richness and quality of all the equipments and surroundings.

It wasn't too bad of a room to be in (if Louis could have an opinion on the matter), except, he would very much prefer to be back in his flat, listening to cringe-inducing soap operas as he job-hunted on his crappy laptop.

What more, was the awkward feeling of being exposed as he was, legs up on stirrups as a _holier-than-thou_ minded, latex-wearing, medically certified _twat_ poked and prodded at his arse hole.

"Uh," Louis grumbled, forearm thrown over his eyes, "How much longer?"

He moved his hand away when he heard the doctor move away from beneath him, pulling off the gloves, the sticky sound sounding before a plonk, of it disposed in the bin. "Not much," The doctor clipped professionally, and cleared his throat. He then went ahead to wash his hands and sanitise them further, _after only which_ he grabbed Louis' chart and file with an underlying flourish. Louis noted the masked judgement in his eyes as they sweeped over his form.

Not a twat, then.

An _imperious_ twat.

Good to know.

Louis rolled his eyes and put his legs down, getting up to slip on his pants and trousers. Smoothing his hair down behind his head, he watched as the man stood before him, eyes skimming over the details of his vitals, and whatnot.

"Right!" The doctor exclaimed— Louis, for the ever-living sake of him couldn't remember his name— and handed the file back to him. "Your vitals are in check, nothing to worry about, infact. Your scar has healed along perfectly. You're good to go. You are welcome to collect your vitamins at the checkout pharmacy for another 2 more months," The doctor explained as he pulled back on his coat and ID tag, pausing at the doorway before his exit. "Would you like for me to input your name back in the register, Mr. Tomlinson?" The man inquired, his voice softened to a dramatic (in Louis' high opinion) hush, like a secret being shared.

Of course.

The Register.

 _Thesmophoria_ was where Louis was currently sat in. It was a discrete and highly coveted surrogacy agency.

Yes, a _highly coveted surrogacy agency._

If it made anyone feel better,Louis felt it quite absurd too.

 _Thesmophoria,_ named after the Greek festival held in name of some Goddess of fertility (yes, Louis had done his research, and no, he doesn't quite give two fucks to remember the mythological theory behind it), was a high-end surrogacy agency that served only the richest of the richest, the 1% of the population, all because they did most of the job.

(Which, should still make no real difference from a 'normal' surrogacy agency, but don't tell anyone that Louis thinks as much.)

Louis zapped back into his surroundings when the twat knocked on the door he held with a twinge of annoyance, of not having received an answer. Louis frowned down at his lap, and nodded before the doctor let himself out quietly, leaving him to change back into his own shirt and coat, the hospital gown left in a bundled up mess on top of the examination bed for a nurse to come in and fetch.

Anyways. _Thesmophoria_ — Louis liked saying it, sue him. It made him feel important (of course he was, yet still) — was the surrogacy agency that paid his cheques, and, well, as much as he was exasperated and dubious of its nature, he was grateful for it.

The Register was quite the big a deal in the agency. It was the official list of registered surrogates— all of whom were of perfect physical and mental health, highly aided and insured by the company itself.

On second thought, Louis guessed that _that_ was the reason why it was much revered.

How, you may ask. Well, anyone who applied to the agency, offering to be a surrogate, underwent a series of tests and medical examinations (both physiological and psychological) to see if they were in the prime of their health (they continued to be, throughout the pregnancy, furthermore, after care included). The birth rate of the agency was at a polished number of a 100% (like Louis said, he did his research. Well _that_ , and the waiting room library had helped him out.) due to this very reason.

Considering the well known fact that only _women_ are capable of... Well... _Giving birth,_ you may wonder _what the bloody fuck_ Louis was upto in _Thesmophoria._

If you had half the train of thought as you should have, after all the explanation Louis had given as to what _Thesmophoria_ was, you would have figured out that _yes,_ Louis was a bloody surrogate.

If not, then in short, Louis was a freak of nature.

An anomaly.

And because Louis had quite the bit of brains, why not get money for being a freak?

He wasn't entertaining enough to be in a circus, no. He's too snappy, and of very high maintenance. Also, this wasn't the 18th century.

So, here walked Louis, one amongst the crowd, hands in his pocket, not an eye strayed to him. Just Louis.

Human, brunette, polyglot, media student, procrastinator extraordinaire.

Anomaly, yes, quite.

But a normal, breathing human nonetheless.

And as long as Louis had the grasp of it, along with his privacy, with the force of a vice, he figured he would be just fine.

* * *

"Hey, babes, how'd it go?"

To be quite frank, Louis, for the life of him, couldn't figure out _why_ he hadn't fucked Zayn yet.

The other-worldly featured, soft spoken _God_ of everything impressively artistic and cookery, stood in front of him with a hot plate of mid-evening pancakes. With _syrup._

"Honey, is that for me?" Louis fluttered his lashes as he dramatically twirled his way to the raven-haired boy who rolled his pretty amber eyes.

"No."

Ah.

 _Now_ he remembered. Zayn was a pretentious little shit who was much more of an annoying sibling, and the very thought of procreating (not literally; _although_ their babies would be very beautiful, Louis thought) with him, brought about a hurl of last night's dinner up to Louis' throat. Well, the situation wasn't _that_ dramatic (yes, it was) but they'd mutually agreed to stay friends.

(Let's pretend that Louis hadn't just completely disregarded the fact that he _has in fact_ snogged Zayn. He was drunk. And well, drunk actions are sober thoughts, or whatever the hell the saying goes, it goes.)

(But then again, he was _drunk_ , and Zayn's _beautiful._ )

Louis grabbed the plate from him anyways, since both Zayn and him knew that the second Louis would step into the kitchen for reasons other than to drink milk straight from the carton or pour himself a big mixing bowl of cereal, was the day Hell would feeeze over. He'd burn water _with_ his focus on the stove.

And the list lengthens. He was a freak, and hopeless in terms of self sustainability.

_Hopeless._

And given the fact that he was a certified _surrogate_ (which, mind you, requires the utmost responsibility and care) _,_ with such a list clipped to his forehead, he really was alive, all thanks to Zayn fucking Malik.

"Thank you, darling!" Louis called as he skipped into the living room, leaving a grumpy Zayn to stomp back into the kitchen to fix himself another plate as he stuffed his into his mouth.

"I' wa' ho'en'ous," Louis explained dutifully and loud, almost making little to no sense. But like a mother who understood her toddler's babbles, Zayn called back, "It always is for you. Are you back on The Register?"

Well now. Rude.

Louis could almost see Zayn roll his eyes.

"Yes," Louis huffed haughtily, busying himself with another filling forkful of pancakes and syrup. When almost half his plate was done, Louis laid it beside himself in the couch, standing up to shimmy out of his trousers, throwing them behind, just as Zayn walked with a plate of his own. His eyes rolled as if on cue, as soon as he laid them on poor ole' Louis.

"Don't be rude, Zayniekins," Louis chastised with a snort, lifting his shirt to gently flaunt the faded C-section scar that stretched across his lower abdomen, in all of its faded glory.

Zayn's eyebrows turned in softly at the sight of it, his pretty, long fingers reaching forward to brush their tips over the pale patch of skin. "It's much better than the bloody mess I remember it stamped into my brain."

Louis snorted as he plopped back into the sofa, plate now resting against his bare thighs. His boxer briefs weren't made to cover much really. Just the precious goods.

"Here," Zayn leaned back to grab the charging laptop behind him, opening it up to several open tabs. "These are some open gigs available around here. Look through if you want any of 'em, yeah?"

Louis made grabby hands for them, giving Zayn a disgustingly full-mouthed grin. "Thanks lad! I knew you were made for greater things than sleeping through Sunday!"

Zayn shot him a scarily flat look, holding on to the device, "Don't make me close the tabs, Tommo. You bet your arse I will."

"Of course you will," Louis smiled sweetly, "Much thank. Much apology."

"You're welcome," Zayn snorted and turned his attention to the telly, putting it on mute as he surfed through the channels.

After a few vigorous movements of Louis skimming through part-time jobs, and Zayn scarfing down his pre-dinner snack, the latter spoke up into the quaint atmosphere. "You're sure, yeah?"

Louis stopped clicking enough for his eyes to drift up towards Zayn's soft, worried gaze that was framed with long eyelashes. "What, about being back on The Register?" Louis sighed then, placing the laptop onto the coffee table before him, turning to Zayn. "Look at our flat, Z," Louis pointed at the well-endowed apartment that sat amidst the better part of the London neighbourhoods. "We're jobless uni students living in a proper home, paying the bills. Yes, your dad gives us money, but he's a twat, and we both can see that a couple hundred pounds decrease every time he sends in the cheque," Louis grinned at Zayn's disgruntled nod. "We've managed this, all from one pregnancy, and studying from home. I stay home for only the later 3 months, boring but not too bad, and you take care of me. And if it keeps us from being thrown out on the streets until we've managed to get good jobs, then yes. I'm sure."

Zayn sighed in resign, eyes fluttering down to his plate, as Louis went back to his laptop.

"You did most of the job, Lou," Zayn retorted softly, and Louis would have almost had an emotional moment of understanding and love with his best mate if he hadn't polished off Louis' last piece of pancake.

"You _monster_ ," Louis gasped, watching with an overly dramatic open of his mouth as Zayn licked off the last of the syrup from his fork, pink mouth smug as it clutched the silver utensil between the cushion of his lips.

"You did most of the work carrying the baby, but you'd be dead if it weren't for me. I deserved that pancake."

"... No, you fucking didn't."

"Yes. Yes, I did."

"Insufferable _twat_."

"I love you too."

* * *

"Leave me to fucking drown, please and _thank you_ ," Louis grumbled as Zayn threw a pillow at his head, groaning at Louis to _turn his fucking phone from hell off._

"Fuck," Louis lifted his head up from his pillow in a flash when he realised that the ringtone wasn't that of his alarm. Rather, it was his boss, _from the agency,_ calling. "What the fuck. Fucking fuck. Fucking shit, Z, shut the fuck up for fuck's sake I'm fucking going. Shit." Tumbling to the carpeted ground with a groan, Louis stumbled over to the lone nightstand that stood between Louis' and Zayn's bed. Both their phones lay on the top of its surface; a policy that the both of them came up with, considering they both were _terrible_ in terms of time management (especially Zayn), and seemed to have a better relationship with their sheets than normal on weekdays (also, key point, _especially_ Zayn). Hence, to turn off the alarm, they had to get their arses up and moving.

"Sophia Smith," Louis grunted into the phone, then backtracked when he realised that he'd read his caller ID out loud to his fucking boss. "Shit, wait, crap, Louis Tomlinson. Sorry."

A voice cleared its throat on the other side of the line, as Louis bee-lined his way back to his comfortable sheets, nuzzling into the warmth of his cozy abode. Zayn snorted from his own bed, and Louis threw him a half-erect middle finger with a lesser heart towards the very action.

"Mr. Tomlinson," The smooth voice cleared its throat again, and Louis hummed, "I'm listening, Ms. Smith." Quite the irrevocable feat considering it was arse crack of dawn, at 8 in the fucking morning, on a _Sunday._

"Very well. Good morning. I've received reports that you're back on The Register, Mr. Tomlinson. If you're free to come in 2 weeks, I'd be willing to assign you to a client. Yes?"

"Sure," Louis replied, "Only after I've reaccounted the NDA document with both my personal and your assigned advocates, Ms. Smith. I'm looking forward to it."

Sophia hummed in agreement, "I've already faxed the documents to your personal in-contact advocate, Mr. Tomlinson. Hope to hear from you soon."

"Thank you, Ms. Smith. Have a nice day," Louis smiled sarcastically to himself, and huffed when the call cut itself with no further greetings.

"I swear to God," Louis grumbled at Zayn who peeked at him from under his messy dark hair, "I'm surrounded by insufferable twats."

"Takes one to see one, Tommo, Takes one to see one."

"Oh, fuck off. Make me breakfast."

"Don't I always? Say _please,_ sweetheart."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anddd that's a chapter!
> 
> About just 2.5k words, but still.
> 
> It's to give an idea about who Louis is, what he's currently up to :)
> 
> Thoughts?
> 
> Have a great one, y'all.
> 
> <3
> 
> Kudos and Comments would make me go uwu so give it a try, pretty please?


	5. 02

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ▪U N E D I T E D▪

**_02_ **

* * *

**HARRY**

**_November, 2016_ **

Pretty sparkles of light glinted in the (intelligently luxurious) dimmed down living room, the beams tinkering on their journey from the empty glass (that once held hard scotch of Harry's choice), to his dilated dark eyes. His empty reflection, empty in the way that they passed through the empty glass, or the way his empty eyes perceived them to be, stared back at him.

"Hm," Harry mumbled, setting the glass down on his sprawled thigh, grabbing the recently-opened bottle of alcohol that sat at the base of his other feet. Picking up the remaining alcohol by the neck, Harry hummed once again in contemplation, fingers twitching, clenching, flexing.

Neck of a bottle.

Why was it so?

Neck, then the mouth.

Where'd the other important parts go?

Harry knocked back his head, letting the liquid slide its way down his throat, burning, touching, _feeling_ its destructive way downward.

It was quite the pleasant evening; the balcony that stood fluttering open with billowing, lace curtains, let the dry, fresh air of November freeze and nip at his toes, his fingers, his lips.

Nice enough.

Atleast he could feel the cold outside, a jarring contrast of the warmth that flickered in his chest: flames that burned his body from within; coaxed on, higher, by the bottles of liquor in his system, and the faint cadences of his fiancé in bed with another man.

Quite the pleasant evening, yes.

 _Quite_.

The unmistakable sounds of a climax, paired with the later sounds of soft giggles, clothes being donned, kisses and slight loving touches; getting closer, and closer, and closer with each step, every second.

It urged him to look up from his bottle of liquor.

The sounds then stuttered to stop, a jarring silence, bated breaths. A quiet stillness. Pleasantly silent.

Quite the evening, yes.

"Oh."

-Came the first crash of sound through the suspended air. A faint whisper, lingering from the mouth Harry worshipped, not few hours ago.

"Sweetheart," Harry smiled serenely, head swaying back softly on his neck, eyes fluttering, lashes hooded as he studied the two stood before him.

The unfamiliar man swallowed, but looked back into Harry's narrowed gaze, unyielding and guiltless. Harry studied his slender neck: on display due to the fact that perhaps his fiancé had ripped the top few buttons open, in their amorous haze. Splatters of pink, marks of passion glinted against the man's pale skin, like medals on a wall. His stance, though rigid, did not give away his exact emotions. Was he nervous? Perhaps. Perhaps not. Was the glint in the man's defiant, cool gaze, that swept over Harry's softened form, teased to that of _pity_?

_Perhaps._

Perhaps _not._

_Never._

_Never again._

Never again, would Harry be faced with such eyes. Eyes that held victory over him. Over his judgement.

"Harry, I can explain-"

"Sh, _darling_."

Harry's eyes cut to his fiancé, _Ava Lincoln,_ with her warm blue eyes of a calm ocean that warmed for another, yet blazed like icy glaciers towards his direction, panicked. Ava, with her wavy, soft black hair, and her pretty, golden skin; contrasted tastefully with the lacy white dress Harry had gifted her, because he'd thought of her in it.

Ava, with her lips swollen sangria, bitten by another. Harry travelled his gaze over her unblemished skin, sweaty, glistening, _unmarred_ , _unblemished_. Tactfully spotless. Pre-planned in the way to keep her affair hidden.

If he hadn't come home earlier, there would have been _no explanation._

What really was there?

To explain?

"Get out," Harry sighed softly, swishing the alcohol in his hands, licking around the mouth. Lips kissed over the glass opening, sucking down another mouthful, eyes empty as they looked straight at the couple before him.

"Wait, Harry, I-"

"Get. Out."

He stressed softly, nodding at the man who silently walked away, slacks shifting as he worked on his belt buckles.

"Harry, _please-_ "

"I won't repeat, sweetheart," Harry sighed out, picking up his phone to glance at the time, finger lingering over his security's number. "Wouldn't want to scar Anthony now, do we? What would he think, having to escort his boss' ex-fiancé? Not that any of that matters," Harry grunted as he stood up to stretch, cracking the muscles in his back and neck, sighing out, tutting his tongue against the roof of his palate. Ava watched him with alarmed eyes, lips parted in silence.

"Close the door on your way out," Harry murmured as he walked into the nearest guestroom, liquid sloshing in the bottle that accompanied his swayed stroll to his destination. He paused at the threshold of the untainted room, hand resting on the doorframe, calculative eyes cutting through the air as they fell upon the woman he'd wanted a life with, "Didn't you know? The engagement's off."

The door clicked shut softly.

* * *

Memory.

The faint whispers of a past that echoed in one's mind.

Memorable.

 _Special_ , for they _lingered_ in the back of one's mind,

Harry loathed the very thought of them.

The very thoughts that kept him awake at night, questioning himself.

A grim smile pulling at his lips, he walked into the elaborate lobby of the 5 star hotel, the crystal chandelier being perhaps the only valid reason as to why Harry had to wear sunglasses. It could also be that he had been drunk as a Lord from the Heavens, now paying the price with a hangover from the depths of hell. Or it could be that he'd shed quite a few tears over his sunken lovelife (much like his hollow cheeks littered with sparse, unattended facial hair).

But of course, it was neither of the latter. It was the chandelier. It had to be.

"Mr. Styles!" The attentive concierge at the lobby desk stood up from his seat, a formal, polite smile playing on his lips. "Sir Styles has requested your presence in the pent house."

"Very well, Maverick," Harry nodded, "I'd like to remove the permanent booking from my suite from henceforth."

Maverick seemed to be alarmed for a split second before he schooled his features to that of his professional concern, "I will inform the board, sir, but... Is a there a particular concern? We would try our very best to see to that it is looked into."

Harry sighed, thinking of all those years of spending his sweet time in that very room, Ava Lincoln in his arms, by his side. It had her favourite view, and, well.

Quite self explanatory that he didn't want to visit that very suite anymore.

"No, nothing of the sort," Harry muttered, waving his hand, "I'm leaving country. Might as well, yes?"

Well, it wasn't really a _lie_.

He was leaving LA to go back home to London.

Something close to a solid, _familiar_ ground would be a better alternative now, Harry thought.

"Oh! Hope you have a safe travel then, sir," Maverick smiled dazzlingly, "If at all anything, please don't hesitate to contact us. Good day, sir!"

Ah.

Either Harry was a poor judge of character, or news of the formerly upcoming wedding being _cancelled_ must have reached the staffs. The slight pity that coloured Maverick's eyes brought about an ugly feeling in his chest.

Afterall, the reception had been planned to be held here.

Harry managed another tilted grimace and walked towards the lifts, punching in the private code with a force more than necessary. The soft elevator music rivalled the rigorous tip-tap of Harry's boot sole against the floor. Reaching the top floor, Harry intermittently trudged his way to his father's penthouse amidst sure strides, a sort of delicate _longing_ for his situation to be starkly different.

Popping a few mints that laid on the coffee table on entrance, Harry knocked on the slightly ajar office room before swinging it open.

"Harry," The family attorney stood up to shake his hand and pat his back in greeting. Desmond, Harry's father, sat at the head with a grim expression on his lips. "Harold," He puffed a mouthful of cigar, nodding at Harry. Harry's grimace twitched to deepen, but he held his fort.

"Desmond," Harry muttered a greeting that could very well be _not_ one at all. "What's the important issue?" He asked, directed more towards the attorney in the room. The man twisted his mouth in slight hesitation, before schooling his features to that of professional business. Harry's eyebrows raised at the break in facade, and made his way over to the lush velvet chaise lounge with a cup of liquor he'd served himself. He was sure that he'd need it to get through the meeting.

Desmond peered at him with a decisive calculation in his eyes, hidden behind the puff of smoke that curled out of his sneered lips. "Management," The attorney finally pushed out, and Harry's eyes snapped to the man who turned his head to look at him.

"There is nothing to discuss further on it," Harry grimaced as he gulped down a mouthful, "I thought I made myself clear yesterday."

"You've made yourself irresponsible, is what you've done. Once again," Desmond goaded with poorly masked disdain, and Harry refrained from rolling his eyes. His eyes narrowed, eyebrow twitching. "How interesting," He muttered, "I wonder why you've come to this newfound conclusion?" Harry snorted, unaffected by his father's prodding with the biggest shitstick.

The air tensed in the room. Desmond grinded his teeth as the attorney rifled through his documents with a stoic face of indifference. The moment was interrupted by the crinkle of papers that was passed over to Harry. He looked down at the documents that he'd already read through, that stated that the Lincoln Resorts were no longer a branch under Styles Endeavors. "I'm well aware of the contents of these documents," Harry grumbled, thumbing at the company seal on the paper.

"Not all of them," The attorney cleared his throat, "They've made a proposal. Lincoln has faxed back your contract sever, with an annexe attached," He explained, and Harry furrowed his brows as he shuffled the papers to the last page. That hadn't been there before.

"They're willing to preempt the Resorts under Styles permanently if I take Ava back without a fuss," Harry revealed flatly as he skimmed over the words. "Well," The attorney started, flicking his gaze over to Desmond. "To put in other words."

"No," Harry replied simply, throwing the stack onto the coffee table without another glance. Cradling the glass of scotch in his hands, he barely flinched when Desmond slammed a fist down the desktop. "Harold," He snarled, "Do you know what you're doing?"

"Being irresponsible," Harry glared over the rim, eyes fluttered with a low groan when the alcohol rushed down his throat in a blazing manner, much like his father's gaze. "I'm not your puppet. Not your buddy Lincoln's _son_ as he so kindly has mentioned in the document," He scoffed, "The engagement was between Ava and I. It does not concern either of you. And if I hear so much as another word about her from you or anyone else," Harry seethed lowly, standing up, and letting the warning hang heavy in the tense atmosphere. Desmond growled low under his breath and pushed away from his desk, "Watch your mouth, _son_ ," He tapped the desk forcefully with a withering glower, "And get your head on straight. Every marriage will have its ups and downs--"

Harry's mood deteriorated down a steep hill. "Your opinion on _marriage_ is a _meritless_ venture, _father_ ," He sat the glass down on the desk with a finalising thump, a scoff barely tampered down in his throat. "A cheater, is a _cheater._ That is neither up nor down," He muttered with a pointed glare. Straightening himself with a flourish of hand down the front of his shirt, Harry narrowed his gaze, "I will deal the branches as I usually do: _irresponsibly._ With the 63% stocks I've bought under my name, I should have the veto power as to whether Lincoln stays or not."

Desmond stilled, "You... _What_?"

"H. Styles owns 63% Styles Endeavors as of yesterday," The attorney spoke up amidst, finally, making Desmond twitch where he stood.

"Here I thought, this is what you'd called me over to discuss about," Harry tutted softly, with a slow sweep of his calmed gaze. "Instead, you've managed to vex me into deciding that I will clean sweep Lincoln Resorts, _all rights included_ ," Harry smiled grimly when all Desmond could do was gape at him. "You no longer hold privy over my private matters. No more goading, no more fucksticks," Harry grinned, "Have a good smoke, Desmond. You seem to need it."

* * *

"What a _dick_!"

Harry snorted softly as his sister Gemma berated vicariously on the phone, riled up with each of the word that had fallen from Harry's lips as he'd recalled his meeting.

"You on your way, then?"

Harry hummed as he looked out the window, watching as cars whizzed past, LAX coming into view. "Yeah. I'm at the airport now."

"Good," Gemma breathed, her voice trailing softer on the phone when a far off cry of agitation sounded on the phone. "Well, Liv's awake," She sighed in exasperation, and Harry smiled at the thought of his baby niece. "Mike's out on errands, I have to go baby brother. Call me when you land, yeah? I've much to tell. You've a babysitting job awaiting."

"Alright," Harry sighed with soft chuckle as he stepped out to board the family private plane, "Give Liv a big smooch from uncle Harry, yeah? We'll talk. Take care."

And as Harry stepped in the plane with a cursory gaze behind, looking at all the things he wasn't quite ready to let go of, but must, he paused.

To new beginnings.

Hopefully.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear I'm not boring, y'all.
> 
> I JUST WANNA TRY SLOW BURN OKAY.
> 
> BUT I WANT THEM TO MARRY AND HAVE BABIES TOGETHER ALREADY OH MY GOD.
> 
> It's only been about 4.5k words I need to chill.
> 
> Anyways XD How is everyone doing? Well, I hope.
> 
> How was the chapter? Thoughts so far? Lemme know :>
> 
> Can you guys see the difference of tone in how Louis' thoughts are, and Harry's are? No? 😂 I'm trying to bring about a more solemn tone to Harry's idk heh
> 
> <3
> 
> Kudos and Comments are soso appreciated uwu


End file.
